LITMIR.BIZ

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crimson treasures, splendid globes. I shook the old, ragged trunk, green, with even the fresh gum dulled over, and the treasures fell heavily, thudding down among the immense rhubarb leaves below. The girls laughed, and we divided the spoil, and turned back to the yard. We went down to the edge of the garden, which skirted the bottom pond, a pool chained in a heavy growth of weeds. It was moving with rats, the father had said. The rushes were thick below us; opposite, the great bank fronted us, with orchard trees climbing it like a hillside. The lower pond received the overflow from the upper by a tunnel from the deep black sluice.

      Two rats ran into the black culvert at our approach. We sat on some piled, mossy stones to watch. The rats came out again, ran a little way, stopped, ran again, listened, were reassured, and slid about freely, dragging their long naked tails. Soon six or seven grey beasts were playing round the mouth of the culvert, in the gloom. They sat and wiped their sharp faces, stroking their whiskers. Then one would give a little rush and a little squirm of excitement and would jump vertically into the air, alighting on four feet, running, sliding into the black shadow. One dropped with an ugly plop into the water, and swam towards us, the hoary imp, his sharp snout and his wicked little eyes moving at us. Lettie shuddered. I threw a stone into the dead pool, and frightened them all. But we had frightened ourselves more, so we hurried away, and stamped our feet in relief on the free pavement of the yard.

      Leslie was looking for us. He had been inspecting the yard and the stock under Mr Saxton’s supervision.

      “Were you running away from me?” he asked.

      “No,” she replied. “I have been to fetch you a plum. Look!” And she showed him two in a leaf.

      “They are too pretty to eat!” said he.

      “You have not tasted yet,” she laughed.

      “Come,” he said, offering her his arm. “Let us go up to the water.” She took his arm.

      It was a splendid evening, with the light all thick and yellow lying on the smooth pond. Lettie made him lift her on to a leaning bough of willow. He sat with his head resting against her skirts. Emily and I moved on. We heard him murmur something, and her voice reply, gently, caressingly:

      “No — let us be still — it is all so still — I love it best of all now.”

      Emily and I talked, sitting at the base of the alders, a little way on. After an excitement, and in the evening, especially in autumn, one is inclined to be sad and sentimental. We had forgotten that the darkness was weaving. I heard in the little distance Leslie’s voice begin to murmur like a flying beetle that comes not too near. Then, away down in the yard, George began singing the old song, “I sowed the seeds of love”.

      This interrupted the flight of Leslie’s voice, and as the singing came nearer, the hum of low words ceased. We went forward to meet George. Leslie sat up, clasping his knees, and did not speak. George came nearer, saying:

      “The moon is going to rise.”

      “Let me get down,” said Lettie, lifting her hands to him to help her. He, mistaking her wish, put his hands under her arms, and set her gently down, as one would a child. Leslie got up quickly, and seemed to hold himself separate, resenting the intrusion.

      “I thought you were all four together,” said George quietly. Lettie turned quickly at the apology:

      “So we were. So we are — five now. Is it there the moon will rise?”

      “Yes — I like to see it come over the wood. It lifts slowly up to stare at you. I always think it wants to know something, and I always think I have something to answer, only I don’t know what it is,” said Emily.

      Where the sky was pale in the east over the rim of wood came the forehead of the yellow moon. We stood and watched in silence. Then, as the great disc, nearly full, lifted and looked straight upon us, we were washed off our feet in a vague sea of moonlight. We stood with the light like water on our faces. Lettie was glad, a little bit exalted; Emily was passionately troubled; her lips were parted, almost beseeching; Leslie was frowning, oblivious, and George was thinking, and the terrible, immense moonbeams braided through his feeling. At length Leslie said softly, mistakenly:

      “Come along, dear”— and he took her arm.

      She let him lead her along the bank of the pond, and across the plank over the sluice.

      “Do you know,” she said, as we were carefully descending the steep bank of the orchard, “I feel as if I wanted to laugh, or dance — something rather outrageous.”

      “Surely not like that now,” Leslie replied in a low voice, feeling really hurt.

      “I do though! I will race you to the bottom.”

      “No, no, dear!” He held her back. When he came to the wicket leading on to the front lawns, he said something to her softly, as he held the gate.

      I think he wanted to utter his half-finished proposal, and so bind her.

      She broke free, and, observing the long lawn which lay in grey shadow between the eastern and western glows, she cried:

      “Polka! — a polka — one can dance a polka when the grass is smooth and short — even if there are some fallen leaves. Yes, yes — how jolly!”

      She held out her hands to Leslie, but it was too great a shock to his mood. So she called to me, and there was a shade of anxiety in her voice, lest after all she should be caught in the toils of the night’s sentiment.

      “Pat — you’ll dance with me — Leslie hates a polka.” I danced with her. I do not know the time when I could not polka — it seems innate in one’s feet, to dance that dance. We went flying round, hissing through the dead leaves. The night, the low-hung yellow moon, the pallor of the west, the blue cloud of evening overhead went round and through the fantastic branches of the old laburnum, spinning a little madness. You cannot tire Lettie; her feet are wings that beat the air. When at last I stayed her she laughed as fresh as ever, as she bound her hair.

      “There!” she said to Leslie, in tones of extreme satisfaction. “That was lovely. Do you come and dance now.”

      “Not a polka,” said he, sadly, feeling the poetry in his heart insulted by the jigging measure.

      “But one cannot dance anything else on wet grass, and through shuffling dead leaves. You, George?”

      “Emily says I jump,” he replied.

      “Come on — come on”— and in a moment they were bounding across the grass. After a few steps she fell in with him, and they spun round the grass. It was true, he leaped, sprang with large strides, carrying her with him. It was a tremendous, irresistible dancing. Emily and I must join, making an inner ring. Now and again there was a sense of something white flying near, and wild rustle of draperies, and a swish of disturbed leaves as they whirled past us. Long after we were tired they danced on.

      At the end, he looked big, erect, nerved with triumph, and she was exhilarated like a Bacchante.

      “Have you finished?” Leslie asked.

      She knew she was safe from his question that day.

      “Yes,” she panted. “You should have danced. Give me my hat, please. Do I look very disgraceful?”

      He took her hat and gave it to her.

      “Disgraceful?” he repeated.

      “Oh, you are solemn tonight! What is it?”

      “Yes, what is it?” he repeated ironically.

      “It must be the moon. Now, is my hat straight? Tell me now — you’re not looking. Then put it level. Now then! Why, your hands are quite cold, and mine so hot! I feel so impish,” and she laughed.

      “There — now I’m ready. Do you notice those little chrysanthemums trying to smell sadly; when the old moon is laughing and winking through those boughs. What business have they with their sadness!” She took a handful of petals and flung

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